Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

What mystic Arts support a female reign,
What various engines form the Toilette's train,
The Use of Dress in either Sex to show,
And model into form the rural Beau,
I sing. Ye Fair! ye Young! protect my Lays,
Be yours the Profit, and be mine the Praise.

Thou Vanity! whose universal sway
Alike the Cynic, and the Fop obey,
Who, widely potent, bear'st an equal rule
O'er Birth-night Balls, and Aristotle's School,
Forsake thy glitt'ring shrine; and, for a while,
On labours destin'd to thy service smile:
So shll amy Verse in gentle hands be seen;
(Amusement fatal both to Time and Spleen!)
So on the Pillow shall these lines be read,
While contemplating Nymphs are yet in bed.

In days of yore, as ancient Portraits show,
(Where yet the Labours of the pencil glow)
Our wayward Fair, with Garments grave and long,
With-held their Beauties from the gazing Throng:
Not yet the Neck reveal'd it's snowy hue,
Nor yet the Bosom panted to the view:
Not ev'n the Ancle could the Lover spy,
(The Ancle fatal to the youthful Eye!)
Of Empire fond, and Houswives of the Joy,
They fear'd their Beauties, if beheld, would cloy;
And kept the rich Reserve conceal'd from sight,
A luscious banquet for the bridal Night.
So guardain Misers bolt the trusty door,
While they in secret hug the precious store:

But at their Feasts they shrink the glitt'ring hoard,
And splendid Plenty smiles upon the board.

Yet, had those home-spun Dames but early known
The force of beauty, when with Judgment shown:
What furious Wishes swell the Lover's breast,
How much he sighs and rages to be blest:
Compleat as ours had been that bashful train,
As gay, as loud, as elegant, as vain!

Our modern Nymphs, more mischievously kind,
Their Pow'r, confirm'd by their Indulgence, find:
With Charms reveal'd they greet the Rover's Eye;
Heedless we gaze, and unresisting die.
When Beauty blazes in Meridian Light,
(No friendly Veil to screen the dazzled sight;)
When the low Stays the wid'ning Bosom show,
(One fair expanse of animated Snow!)
Ev'n Beaux must own (oh proof of Pow'r confest!)
It moves their gentle Wishes—for the Rest.

Yet, potent as ye are, forgive, ye fair,
If still I make your Discipline my care;
These Charms ill manag'd may obnoxious prove,
And cause Aversion where you threaten Love.

Sharp is the Dart, and fatal to the foe,
If aim'd with Skill it quit the forceful bow:
So sharp is Beauty to the Lover's Heart,
But sharpest Beauty must be aim'd with Art.

If to Perfection you the Head would dress,
In all it's ornaments avoid Excess;
Load not with toys, what nature has design'd
The noblest structure of the human kind.
Why all around should flutt'ring Lappets play,
Or Ribbands glare, unprofitably gay?
Thin, light and easy should the cov'ring be,
As not design'd for Show, but Decency.

Blest be the Girl who, by uncommon hap,
First found the beauties of the round ear'd Cap.
That dapper coif adorns, with matchless Grace,
As well the youthful as autumnal face:
This knows the fraudful Harlot, and with care
In this will oft her shatter'd form repair.
In riding Vest she stands demure and meek,
While seeming Innocence adorns her cheek:
(Vers'd in Destruction! studious to betray!)
The hapless Prentice falls her easy prey.

How does the Quaker's modest garb invite?
Her well quill'd Cambrick strikes the judging sight:

Those sober Saints, full fraught with grace and zeal,
Can yet the Stings of Mother-Nature feel:
The tempting grace of decent Dress they know,
And aim with judgment at the broad-brim'd Beau.

This yet remains. Ye married Fair attend,
Nor scorn the profer'd service of a Friend;
Would you the dreadful fear of Change remove,
And reign secure of Man's capricious Love,
Let Pinners ever clean regale his sight.
Fresh be your Head-dress with the Morning Light.

Oft have I seen some young unthinking Fair
With Flow'rs and Diamonds load her flowing Hair.
Reject this needless task, nor vainly hide
Your Lover's Glory and your Sex's Pride.
When the full Tresses, with bewitching grace,
In swelling Ringlets wanton o'er the Face,
Or by the Bodkin's forceful art confin'd,
With shining Sable grace the Neck behind:
Say, why should Flow'rs their gaudy folds display,
Or the vain Brilliant dart it's feeble ray?

The useful Powder-box be next my Song,
Friend to the old, and Fav'rite of the young;
With this the Matron, venerably grey,
Can hide the silver tokens of Decay;

With this secure can in the Front-box sit,
And court the Glances of the ogling Pit.
Tho' thin her antiquated Tresses lie,
The plaist'ring Powder yet deceives the Eye.
So when the driving Gales, and wintry Snow,
In one white Veil have wrapt the World below,
With equal Beauty, to the shiv'ring Swain,
Appear the genial Glebe and desart Plain;
Tho' one wide waste of barren Sand is here,
And there the Promise of the fruitful Year.

To add much grace the Fav'rite may be said,
When o'er the Forehead's smooth expansion spread;
That gentle Lock, if 'tis reduc'd with care,
Gives double lustre to a Skin that's fair:
As softly bending to the view it lies,
Like the gay Rainbow in the Summer Skies.

As rising Grass adorns some tender mead,
When genial Springs the wintry blasts succeed,
As the soft Rose bedecks the Florist's ground,
And smiles, superior of the Sweets around;
Such are the Honours of the Virgin's Hair,
And such the Charms resistless Ringlets bear:
How sure they tempt us, and how much excel,
Let fair Belinda's Loss for ever tell.

Tho' Dress and Beauty much assist the Fair,
The grand Arcanum not inhabits there:
Nymphs may our Eyes with glitt'ring Toys invade,
The trembling Spangle, or the rich Brocade:
These only serve like pageant Rooms of State,
To tempt the Gazer to his farther Fate:
Alas! our Ruin does but here begin,
The finish'd mischief is conceal'd within;
'Tis there, enamour'd with their fancy'd Store,
Kings cease to rule, and Patriots plod no more.

So some Magician, in romantic Strain,
Uprears his Castle on the verdant Plain;
The spacious Dome, with Gold and Diamonds gay,
Invites the weary wand'ring Knight to stay:
O'er Brilliant Pavements unconfin'd he roves,
Thro' Crystal Arches and enchanted Groves;
While far within, unseen by human Eyes,
Deep in his Cell the bearded Wizard lies;
He waves his sable Wand, his Goblins wait,
The luckless Stranger finds the Fraud too late;
Caught in the Charm, for Ages to remain,
And dream of Tilts and Tournaments in vain.

If in the well-taught Pacer you delight,
The Jockey's Cap is no unpleasing sight;
Tho' fading Prudes with spleen thy dress behold,
And cry “It makes a Woman look so bold.”
Vainly, alas, they rail, while we admire;
We know they censure what they can't acquire:
Of Youth and Beauty Prudes are still the foe,
Because 'tis want of both which makes them so.

The Ladies once (that was a time indeed!)
With Hat and Wig equip'd would climb the Steed:
Surpriz'd the Lover view'd his alter'd Fair,
Her warrior Features and embolden'd Air;
The straggling Curls, with masculine embrace,
Deform'd the yielding Softness of the Face.
So when from Hills the gushing Torrents flow,
They rudely stain the Silver Stream below.
So rattling Winds collect the Clouds on high,
And blast the Calmness of the Summer Sky.
Take heed, ye Nymphs; this needless Art refrain;
Be not at least—ridiculously vain:
Already too compleat is Beauty's Store,
And Bankrupt Nature can afford no more:

'Tis yours by Tenderness of Form to move;
Venus would ill become the Arms of Jove.
When sportling Lambs no more the fleece sustain,
But stalk with threat'ning claws and brinded mane;
When Turtles change their gentle form, and seek
The Kite's unweildy pounce, and piercing beak:
Then, O ye Fair, (but for th' Example stay,)
May you be full as elegant as they.

Would you in flow'r of Health, and Charms surpass,
Consult your Saddle more, and less your Glass;
Let the soft Beau, in close Machine confin'd,
Peep cautious out, and tremble at the Wind:
Be yours to press the Steed, with loosen'd Rein,
O'er gently-rising Hills or level Plain:
So with new Lustre shall your Beauties glow,
Fresh Lilies spring and op'ning Roses blow:
Tho' long before each vernal Blush was fled,
The Eyes o'ercast, and the Complexion dead;
Tho' various Doctors had employ'd their skill,
And, impotent to cure, delay'd to kill;
This shall again the sprightly Red renew,
And Youth and Beauty reassume their due;
O'er thy pale Cheek the mantling Bloom shall move,
And each fair Feature flush with rising Love.

Another Good you yet by Riding share,
The Dress and Posture much improve your Air;
To great advantage, in the modish Vest,
Are seen the taper Waste, and op'ning Breast:
And, as the Wind the Petticoat inspires,
The Foot appears alternate, and retires;
The greedy Lover gazes with Surprize,
Sighs at each Step, and as you pace he dies.

A small Digression must my Rules attend,
Where Precepts fail, Example may amend:
How in fair Yorkshire's wide-extended plain,
A beauteous Nymph long lov'd a churlish Swain,
And how, tho' long she lov'd, she lov'd in vain;
Well form'd by Nature, well improv'd by Art,
She fail'd to move his undiscerning heart:
Small was her Waste, and berry-brown her Hair,
Her Bosom panting, prominent, and fair;
And wanton roll'd her Eyes, as Love himself were there.
This buxom Lass was full of youthful blood,
She lov'd the sylvan Haunt, and shady Wood;
She lov'd the Hare, the Hound's melodious cry,
And ever, when the Chace was hot, was nigh.

It so befel upon a Sun-shine day,
A goodly Train went out in search of prey;
Her Father first with rev'rence due we name,
The Poacher's dread, and Guardian of the Game;
Next came the Vicar on his thread-bare Steed,
(A beast more fam'd for Abstinence than Speed)
And then in order, to the cheerful plain,
The love sick Maid, and unrelenting Swain.
And now the Hounds began the tuneful Cry,
The Scent was burning, and the Game was nigh:
The furious Fair out strip'd the rushing wind,
Far lagg'd the Parson, and the Squire behind.
The Youth alone, so Fate ordain'd, was near;
For Fate's unerring hand was surely here:
When unregarding, in her utmost speed,
Down fell the Damsel from the straining Steed;
One taper Leg the stubborn Footstool bound,
(Her beauteous head depending to the ground)
Swift to her aid the gen'rous Shepherd flew,
As swift he kindled at the tempting View.
Not Homer's hundred Tongues would well suffice
To speak the Wonders which engag'd his Eyes.
Reform'd, like Cymon, now the Nymph he spy'd,
And wild with Passion, claim'd her for his Bride.

The willing Sire consents, rejoic'd the Fair;
(The Couple ready, and the Churchman there)
Instant to join their Hands they all agree,
And tie the Knot beneath the Greenwood-Tree:
And well I wot, had they been but alone,
That Tree had serv'd for uses more than one.
Enough of that. Now home return'd they all;
May ev'ry love-sick Maid have such a Fall!